


This City Is For Strangers

by grandilloquism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: shaggydog_swap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandilloquism/pseuds/grandilloquism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It was five in the morning in London. Somewhere a few hours east the sun was rising, but in London the sky was dark, clouds murky orange with reflected light. It smelled like rain, and it smelled like baking bread.  </i>Magical AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	This City Is For Strangers

**Author's Note:**

>   This was written for [](http://shaggydog-swap.livejournal.com/profile)[**shaggydog_swap**](http://shaggydog-swap.livejournal.com/) for the artwork [Flirt](http://shaggydog-swap.livejournal.com/8945.html), by [](http://mypretty-art.livejournal.com/profile)[**mypretty_art**](http://mypretty-art.livejournal.com/).  It's a gorgeous piece of art, and I had so much fun writing for it, and with the fest.  The title, and a bit of secondary inspiration, are from the song 'Grey or Blue,' by Jaymay.

It was five in the morning in London. Somewhere a few hours east the sun was rising, but in London the sky was dark, clouds murky orange with reflected light. It smelled like rain, and it smelled like baking bread. Sirius was just coming off a bad case of the flu and he was the sort of hungry that only comes with lying a week in bed and not eating much more than tea and toast. He had woken, disorientated, unsteady on his feet and ravenous, to find his cupboards empty and his refrigerator bare. Luckily, baker’s kept early hours.

The little café down the street from his flat spilled buttery light out onto the pavement, and the sign on its window bore one glorious word: OPEN. A bell chimed overhead when he pushed through the door, and all Sirius could do for a moment was stop and let the smells filter through: coffee, sweetness, and soft, beautiful bread.

“Morning,” the girl behind the counter greeted him. She was about sixteen, with platinum blonde hair cut short and flat on her head, huge brown eyes in a pale, thin face, and an outsized sweater under a black apron, also too big for her; the nametag on the apron read ‘Moses,’ which seemed unlikely. He thought he recognized her, but, “You cut your hair.”

She seemed pleased, “Yeah.” She reached up, running her fingers through it, “Last week.”

“Been sick,” he shrugged. “It’s nice.”

She smiled, revealing the gap between her front teeth. “Thanks.” She recalled her purpose, and tapped the counter, suddenly self-conscious, “What can I get you?”

“Coffee, black, and a croissant. No—better make it three.”

She poured his coffee in a paper cup and, despite the croissants in the display beside the counter, disappeared behind a door for a moment and brought back a white paper sack from, presumably, the kitchen. “Fresh from the oven,” she explained, with another smile.

“Oh. Thanks.” He paid her, and waved a hand over his shoulder as she called, “Have a nice day,” as he left back out through the door and onto the street, mouth already full of flaky, buttery bread.

He was most of the way back to his building when a voice called out from behind him, not Moses the skinny barista. A man was walking quickly towards him: tall, in t-shirt and thin trousers despite the chill, pale and muddy-haired under the streetlamps. “You dropped this,” he said, holding his hand out when there was only about a yard or so between them. It was a galleon resting in his palm; it must have fallen when he had been fumbling for change.

“I—“ he faltered, shifting the paper bag to an unsteady grip in the same hand that held the coffee.

The man smiled, “Only, I’m pretty sure it violates the Statute of Secrecy, to be leaving wizarding money laying about where muggles might find it.”

This presented a new set of problems. “Good thing you’re not a muggle,” he said, more flippantly than he felt.

The man pressed the galleon into Sirius’ emptied hand. “Remus Lupin,” he introduced himself, his hand very warm on Sirius’. “Definitely not a muggle.”

Sirius smiled, sly, warm, a little toothy, and tucked the money into a pocket. He continued walking to his flat; Lupin followed. “What? Not even a name?” he asked.

Sirius was switching the coffee and croissants to his other hand, needing his left to dig his keys out of his pocket. “You seem nice—“

“I am nice,” Lupin cut him off, ardently.

He continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “—but it’s not my general practice to talk to strange wizards on the street at five in the morning.”

Lupin checked his watch, “It’s five thirty-seven.”

“My point still stands.” Sirius stopped walking; they had reached his building. He wondered what the hell he was doing—the man was very fit and obviously interested, but also, he suspected, though there was no overt proof, extremely drunk. There was a moment of awkwardness, and then Sirius fumbled his key into the lock, shuffled into the building, and closed the door firmly behind him. The lift, as always, was broken. Sirius walked up the five flights of stairs to his flat. When he looked out his window, Lupin was gone.

 

That evening he received an owl. Its note read:

_Do you know how difficult owl post is without the name of the recipient? Possibly you don’t. It’s difficult. Very difficult.  
I wanted to apologize for possibly coming off so creepy this morning, though I doubt this is doing much now to dispel the notion. Anyway, sorry. It wasn’t my intent._

_-Remus._

Sirius wrote back, because he was incredibly stupid and completely useless against temptation.

_You seemed more drunken than creepy.  
What was your intent?_

_-S._

His reply came quickly, no more than two hours.

_Are you playing with me, S. of the coffee and croissants?  
You’re at an obvious advantage. I don’t even know your name.  
You see how unfair this is, yes?_

_\--Remus, the regrettably chatty drunk_

__

 

_Less chatty, I’d say, more lascivious. Still, all in good fun, I suppose.  
You didn’t answer my question._

_-S._

_Only paying back in kind.  
What’s your name?_

_\--Remus_

Sirius hesitated a long time before sending back a final reply:

_Meet me for breakfast. Sober, this time.  
You know when and where._

_-Sirius Black_

 

At 5:37 the next morning Sirius walked into the café, the bell ringing over his head. Moses was behind the counter again, she smiled at him; her nametag read Galileo. Remus was already there, waving at him from a booth in the corner, coffee and croissants on the table. “ _Sirius Black_ ,” he said, drawing it out.

“Remus Lupin,” he countered.

“Yes, well,” they both sat, facing each other across the tabletop. “Birds of a feather.”

Sirius added sugar to his coffee, just for something to do with his hands. “I’m not sure that’s correct idiom usage.”

Remus cocked his head to one side, “I’m pretty sure it was an adage.”

“Which is a proverb—which is like an idiom.”

“Fair.” He grinned, and it was devastating. Sirius’ new goal in life was to see that smile as often as possible.

He did his best to pretend like his entire worldview had not just shifted, and sipped at his coffee; it was too sweet. The bell over the door rang and they both watched as a tense, besuited woman ordered, paid, and left with her breakfast. Except for Moses/Galileo, they were alone.

“I’m glad you wrote me back,” Remus was holding his coffee in both hands, looking down into the cup.

Sirius felt a smile creeping up, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean,” he cleared his throat, “I was prepared to leave it at that, or, you know, casually walk by your building every so often—in a very non-creepy, non-stalkerish way, of course.”

It was worrying that this was not deterring his smile, “Of course.”

Remus glanced up from the depths of his coffee cup, and smiled in response. “Anyway, now that I’ve thoroughly established my reputation as an asylum escapee.”

“Total honesty?” Sirius asked; Remus nodded. “I kind of like the creeper vibe. It’s… nice.” To know that you’re interested.” He was definitely blushing, it was vastly unfair.

“I am that,” Lupin blushed as well, evening up the score somewhat.

 

Back out on the street the sun was struggling to be seen. Sirius stuffed his hands in his pockets, battling back nervousness.

“Tell me this isn’t where you disappear on me again,” Lupin smiled, and the streetlights made odd shadows on his face.

Sirius glanced away, half-tempted to just kiss the man, to see if it would dissolve the uncharacteristic bashfulness he was feeling. He looked back; Remus was watching him patiently. He chewed on his lip, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Remus shook his head, “Working.”

“All day?”

“Most of it.”

“Where?”

“The Porfirian,” he named the scholar’s research library in London.

“You get lunch?”

“An hour,” Remus’ smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I’ll be there.” Impulsively, Sirius reached between them, letting his fingertips rest on the bare skin of Remus’ inner elbow. He drew back, and without a word more, walked to his building, very conscious of being watched the entire way. When he had the door open he looked back, Remus hadn’t moved from under the streetlight, and lifted his hand in good-bye.

 

 

The blonde’s nametag read ‘Solomon,’ she winked at him when he stopped in to buy some bread to go with the lunch he had planned. “He likes these,” she said, tapping at the glass over the blackberry tarts.

“I’ll take a dozen,” he said, almost but not quite biting his nails. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and then awkwardly removed them to receive the box of pastry and the long paper bag of bread, and to hand her the correct notes. “Thanks,” his voice went wry, “Solomon.”

She grinned, and he waved away his change.

 

 

The Porfirian was a tall building made of blue-grey stone, with two wings receding back away from the street. The top of its edifice was rounded, half-circles carved out along the outer edge. A mammoth circle of stained glass dominated, with six smaller but no less striking windows underneath. Throughout all, in brilliant purples, reds, greens, and blues, were the runes for knowledge, learning, and protection. The huge double doors were of dark, well-polished wood, and opened silently. Sirius went through them, glancing back over his shoulders at the high walls of the library’s neighbour—the only wizarding cemetery in London.

The room he entered was tall and draughty, the stained glass throwing squares of colour on the floor and back wall, muted, as the light coming through it was dull and grey. A long desk spanned most of the back wall and an ancient witch, a hundred if she was a day, stood alert and upright behind it, a neat stack of manuscripts on one side of her and a long parchment and uncapped fountain pen on the other. She had black eyes and carefully pinned white hair under a small blue silk cap, placed at an angle on her head. She wore dark blue robes in style many decades out of fashion—with tight fit sleeves and much buttoning and fastening about the rest of it—but that nonetheless suited her.

“Yes?” she asked in a low, clear voice when he approached her desk.

“I’m looking for Remus Lupin?” his voice was soft.

She looked at the picnic basket he wore over his arm, “There is food in there?”

“Yes.”

“Then you may leave it here, at the desk. I will watch it. Mr. Lupin is working in the Elianoan Wing,” she gestured to her left. “I must ask you to empty your pockets of all food or liquid.” He did so, placing two slightly sticky caramels on the desk. “Now, remove your wand, please, and touch its tip to this,” she took a hollow glass orb from beneath the counter and placed it carefully on the desk; it stayed upright. Inside it, a golden mist swirled, spreading as Sirius’ wand tip touched the glass. “I must ask you to swear to harm no object held in these walls, through magic or other means, and to bring or conjure neither flame nor liquid while inside. Do you so swear?”

This seemed reasonable to Sirius, “I so swear.” Something liquid and golden dripped out of his wand and through the glass, frothing as it touched the mist. A few seconds passed and his oath was indistinguishable from the others.

She smiled thinly at Sirius, “In the old days we used to take collateral from the patrons—they tell me this is more civilized.”

“I’m sure.” Sirius edged to his right, “Through here, you said?”

“Ring the bell if he isn’t at his desk,” she instructed, then turned her attention back to her manuscripts.

 

 

Remus wasn’t at his desk. Sirius took up the little brass bell that was there and rang it; it’s clear, high peal cut through the quiet hush of the library. He returned the bell and took advantage of his solitude to look around. The long hall had a much lower ceiling than the grand entry, and instead of windows the walls that were not taken up by shelves were hung with richly woven tapestries; sun motifs were heavily represented, with stars not far behind.

A tapestry depicting a sun with rays like blades issuing from it on a sky of ultramarine was pushed aside and Remus appeared from the passage behind it. He wore dusty black robes open over dark trousers and a grey jumper; his face lit up with a grin when he saw Sirius. “Hello! Is it lunch already?”

“Thereabouts,” Sirius smiled back.

Remus looked down at himself, “Should I change? Where are we going?”

“Actually,” Sirius very resolutely did not blush, “I brought a basket.”

Remus’ eyebrows went up, “You cooked?”

“A little.” Sirius had, actually, spent two hours over his stove, babying along a pot of French onion soup. “And I picked up some things.”

He looked absurdly pleased—but he had, of course, no reason to doubt Sirius’ culinary efforts, which, while enthusiastic, were not always successful. “It’s to be a picnic, then.”

Thunder rumbled outside, and rain began to patter against the roof. “I had hoped the weather would hold.”

Remus’ smile went wry. “We can use the courtyard, if you like. There are umbrella charms on it.” Sirius nodded agreement and Remus glanced about them, “Your basket’s with Iphigenia?”

“If you mean the dragon lady at the desk, then yes.”

“She is rather draconian,” Remus admitted, leading them back towards the entry. He made introductions at the desk, “Iphigenia, this is Sirius Black. Sirius, Iphigenia Reynard.”

She sniffed, “Is he coming back for the tour?”

“Iphigenia gives the cemetery tour every weekend,” he explained.

“Seven sickles admission.”

“The Blacks have a vault,” Remus shook his head. “The tour is free for keyholders.”

“Donations,” Iphigenia tapped the counter with her long nails, annoyed, “are always welcome.”

“I’d be happy to. Take the tour and donate, I mean.”

“Excellent. But not just now,” Remus took charge of the picnic basket. “Iphigenia, I’m taking my lunch.” He smiled at Sirius. “We’ll walk around—you don’t want to know what sort of promises it takes to get food back there,” he gestured to the door that led back to the Elianoan wing.

 

They took the path that led around the library at a run, and skidded into the protection of the courtyard, laughing. It was a long, rectangular space, with early flowers blooming against the three walls that bound it and a large hazel tree shadowing the centre. There were benches arranged artfully about the edges, but Remus led him to the stone table and wrought iron chairs placed beside the tree. Sirius noticed, before he sat, that the chairs, as well as some of the benches, were shaped with the runes for knowledge, reasoning, and enlightenment.

Carefully, he began unloading his basket. Most of it were things he had bought and simply transferred to attractive receptacles: ripe cherries, stuffed olives, honey roasted almonds, and the long, crusty loaf of bread and pastries he had bought from the café. “I didn’t know what you liked,” he explained as he carefully lifted the crock of soup away from its stabilizing charms and onto the table. “So…?” he looked expectantly up at Remus.

He was smiling, “You had me at picnic. It all looks delicious.”

Sirius glanced down at the tabletop, as if to make sure the food did, in fact, look delicious, but looked up with the tips of Remus’ warm, dry fingers touched along Sirius’ jaw.

Remus’ expression was very intent, “Your eyes.”

“Beg pardon?” Sirius managed, weakly.

“They’re grey. They looked blue, yesterday, I couldn’t tell.”

“Oh.” Remus’ eyes were tea-coloured, warm and full of humour. Another smile broke his expression, and his hand dropped, leaving behind five tingling points of heat. It occurred to Sirius that it felt as if he had known Remus Lupin for a lot longer than three days. This seemed not at all the sort of thing to say aloud, so he busied himself ladling soup.

An hour passed too quickly, full of comfortable getting to know you conversations and food. Sirius was too nervous to eat, but instead watched as Remus ate a little of everything. He found himself full of restless energy, his leg twitching, and the ever-evolving mass of tingly warm something quite established in his intestines.

The rain had passed unnoticed sometime during their meal, and they took a much more leisurely pace back around the building, shoulders touching companionably. Too soon, they reached the front doors, and Sirius set down the basket. They faced each other; Sirius smiled, more confidently than he felt, and the corner of Remus’ eyes crinkled, like he was suppressing laughter.

They kissed. Sirius leaned forward, and Remus tilted his head and at first it was just the sweet, fizzing slide of mouth against mouth, and a breath, a pause, and then—tingling warmth down to his toes, the smell of Remus: parchment and damp wool, warmth and a certain spiciness, his hands tangled in short, soft hair, and all the little places their bodies touched, sparking heat.

Eventually they separated, flushed, weak-kneed, and giddy. Sirius bit his lip, quite at a loss for words. Remus was smiling, slow and easy, his mouth red and swollen, slick looking, and his eyes half-lidded. “Well,” he said, and his voice was a little lower, rougher, and it sent a pleasant shiver up Sirius’ spine, “we’ll have to do that again.”

So they did.  



End file.
